Lilium
by Sound-Asleep
Summary: James Potter's last reminiscence is one of love. These are his final memories before fate deals an unprecedented blow to many lives.


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She is so sweet.. So beautiful. A single glance from her is enough to set my heart into a pounding craze... A mere brush of those soft fingers is enough to set my soul ablaze with a wild ardor... Her smile reaches out and touches me in such a way that I am left with a desire to keep her happy for all of time. Her gentleness, her innocence, her passion... Albeit, that's not why I fell in love with her in the first place.

I suppose it was her hatred towards me. That terrible, wonderful, heated, ardent hatred towards the one and only _me_. Ah, sweet hatred... She despised me, loathed me for all of six blissful years, and then it suddenly changed. An anonymous benefactor began to court her in our sixth year, with eloquent letters and a lily every night. I credit Moony with his wonderful gift of words, but the lilies.. the lilies were all mine. So many different lilies and all the things they represented filled me with wonder. So during the first month I sent her orange lilies. They represented her hatred and pride.

Smiling, I brush a vermillion lock from her eyes. Her hair is long again, just they way I like it. It hangs so carelessly in her eyes, wavy strands that felt like silk between my fingers. Her skin seems to glow in the flickering light of the candle on the dresser. Her freckles are like drops of paint on a smooth canvas. My smile tastes so saccharine against my lips as I stroke her hair. She's been so weary recently...

The second month, I sent her calla lilies. Those represented her majestic beauty... That majestic beauty that stunned me so. It was during the second week of calla lilies that I noticed their sweet scent upon her skin. A third week and I found her wearing the lilies in her hair. Her image left me breathless, but I felt a small sense of bitterness. Had she known it was from me, would she still wear them so lovingly? This thought left me with a torturous pang in my heart.

And so on the eve of the third month, I sent her a sprig of lily-of-the-valley. A few days passed and I then sent her the letter I knew she desperately yearned. On the fourth of November, I found her waiting by the old oak tree by the lake. She looked resplendent against the opalescent light of the moon. I remember her hair... She had cut it short in our sixth year, wavy tresses that stopped to the point of her stubborn chin. Hiding in the shadows, I left another lily-of-the-valley behind her, with another letter, and then I stole away into the night. The lily-of-the-valley represented humility and sweetness.

My smile softens as her eyes flutter open. Dazzling irises of shimmering green greet me drowsily. They are like glimmering emeralds, luminescent light filtering through to reveal the hidden secrets her virescent eyes held. Sage, forest, sea -- her eyes a scintillant of green that fascinated me so wonderfully. She smiles at me before closing her eyes once again, moving serenely against my side. I gaze down at her for a few more moments until I know she is asleep once more. Silently, I let my coarse fingers wander through her hair again, etching her image into my memory.

She was surprisingly quiet the week after our 'first' meeting. Almost as if she was deep in thought. She was lost to us all, lost in the recesses of her mind as she wondered over her secret admirer. I decided then to meet her again, and this time she stood in the dark of night once more in an almost fidgety manner, I swept over to her and planted a chaste kiss upon her lips. And before she could see my face, I stole away once more, hidden beneath my cloak of invisibility.

After that encounter, she blushed when any male neared her, as if embarrassed and shy. This filled me with a secret happiness that no one knew about. This little bit of joy belonged to _us_, to her and I. After a week or so of her constant blushing, she fell into a routine of bubbliness that to this day fills me with amused laughter. Her unknowing flirtatiousness caused me to send her day lilies upon the eve of the fourth month -- a symbol of her newfound coquetry.

Every day a lily was nestled in her cerise tresses or loosely held in her dainty fingers. Seeing her with the flowers overwhelmed me with a strange feeling that had slowly been getting worse by the day. I almost felt sick, but I felt fine -- physically, at least. It wasn't until I began to send her the white lilies did I recognize it as love.

Crying suddenly fills the house. Quickly but lightly so as to not awaken my love, I remove myself from the bed and cross the threshold, following the hallway until I'm just outside another door, a blue painted door with a name spelled out across it. Still smiling, I open the door quietly and swiftly make my way to a bed in the corner. "Shh, Harry, everything's fine," I whisper soothingly, embracing my son. His cries go on for a few moments before fading away into little hiccups. Rubbing his back, he soon falls asleep. I lay him back down and cover him with an indigo blanket. He lies there, so serenely, his mother's eyes closed with a desire for sleep. His hair is like mine, dark and ebony, sticking up in the back. His pudgy thumb curls and with a _plop_ he begins to suck on it earnestly. I chuckle softly and ruffle his hair lightly. I get up and leave the room, making my way downstairs as I fall back into thought.

I rest myself in the sitting room, stretching my legs out on the comfortable jade-hued recliner. I close my eyes and lose myself in the memories of before..

The white lilies had symbolized her innocence and purity. The fifth month was a month of apprehension for me. I was caught between telling her or prolonging my bittersweet secret. In the end, it was Sirius's heartfelt words that convinced me. I still remember how somber his usually-impish face was... _'Love is the one thing that will keep us sane during these dark days. Don't hide it from her and lose your only chance. Tell her and love her before your love is stolen away. You're lucky to have love, what with all the chaos going on now...'_ And so I told her. I asked to meet her one last time by the lake, two lilies in hand. Her reaction was rather adverse, but I expected no less from her. She stared at me with her wide eyes, disbelief written so deeply upon her face. The resounding slap still rings in my ears with the sound of her yells. Never the less, with dazed eyes, I handed her both lilies, a note tied to the both of them. A tiger lily and a white lily; pride and purity. And then I left her by the lake, trying not to let the tears fall.

The days and months that followed were tense between us. Everyone noticed it -- the professors, the students, the ghosts... She literally stopped speaking to me, but her eyes conveyed everything she felt. Our sixth year ended with silent farewells. Summer blossomed into a frenzy of nightmarish attacks and the rising of a new terror who threatened the wizarding world. The news was filled with grimness and fear and above all, death. Death loomed over all of us that summer, the youth of our generation, and we were all filled with an apprehension towards our fate.

At the dawn of our seventh year, I remember her running towards me with desperation. I remember her flinging her arms around my neck and burying her face against my chest. I was shocked -- she had _embraced _me, not to mention that she had actually _touched_ me. I still remember her meek, muffled voice. _"I didn't think I'd see you again..."_ And that... that was when our lives truly began.

I lean my head back, eyes roving over the ceiling as I grin roguishly. Thunder sounds outside, rumbling in the distance and for a moment, I fear they'll both awaken. But I hear no footsteps or cries. I get up though and make my way towards the kitchen. As I enter the dimly lit hallway, my eyes are attracted towards a vase of lilies, a wide assortment of many types. From orange to calla to day to lily-of-the-valley to an odd purple and gold one that I've never seen before. Frowning, I step forward to inspect it, running my fingers over the smooth petals. Thunder roars again, much closer than before and out of the corner of my eye I can see the flash of lightning against the windows. Rain beats a steady rhythm against the windows, but as the seconds flee they grow more erratic, as if something was obscuring their path downwards. Not knowing why, an icy shiver sends chills running down my spine. I shrug it off, but a tiny inkling of dread still weighs against me.

A whisper of cloth, just outside the front door -- it moves with the wind like a silent omen. I whip around, astounded I could even hear it. Suspicion, laced with a hint of anxiousness, crawls achingly in my skin. Somehow, I know its the worst but I just can't bring myself to believe it. I step back quietly, my eyes fixated upon the door. There is another flash of lightning and my eyes widen at the lean silhouette just outside the window. _It can't be him..._

But inside, I know the truth. I whip around, treading carefully but quickly back towards the drawing room, hoping to make my way upstairs. I need to warn her...

Thunder rolls again, louder than ever, ringing unpleasantly in my ears. I can hear little Harry's strangled cries and footsteps running frantically upstairs towards his bedroom. Pinching my eyes shut, I know.. I just _know_ that _he_ knows. The door suddenly slams open, ripped off its hinges, wood splintering and flying through the air as wind and rain gust through the threshold.

And there he stands... A lone silhouette illuminated by the flashing lightning. His inhuman face smiling in such a sadistic way, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. His skin is sallow, water streaming from his face. His thin lips seem to crack with his bestial grin, filling me with dread. Sanguine eyes glint for a timeless moment with something I just barely register as hunger.

My blood runs cold as his whispering voice seems to drown out the whistling winds and roaring thunder.

_"We meet again, James..."_

My wand is out in an instant and I run into the drawing room, shouting at the top of my lungs.

_"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off -- "_ A gleam of red arcs through the air, illuminating our surroundings, and the battle for my family's lives begins. I don't stop to think, I don't stop to wonder; all I do is fight for the survival of Lily and Harry. As the dueling takes ahold over the Dark Lord and I though, a single thought looms darkly in my mind...

I had never wanted to acknowledge such a grim thing, but lilies always had been associated with death.

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Author's Note: I'm horribly cruel, I know. And don't take it the wrong way -- I'm not saying that James regrets being with Lily. I'm implying that he never wanted to acknowledge something like lilies representing death. I mean, here he's been, reminiscing how he wooed the fair Lily, which revolves around lilies, and in the end he wryly remembers that lilies are associated with death.

I was considering making this a two-shot, including Lily with her thoughts in the second chapter, but no, I just felt it had to end here. I wanted to write something James-centric, because I've never given the time and thought to consider that even he has his moments, no matter how fluffy and impish and childish his marauder-self can be. :) I've had this thought about lilies in my head for awhile (only it recently came to the forefront of my mind today) and I thought it was sweet. So, I hope it's not too sappy or ooc in James' part. I enjoyed writing it -- I might just write more James stories:P Oh, and 'lilium' is a latin name derived from the Greek word 'leirion' (white lily) and is a genus which holds about one hundred species of plants in the lily family. Hehe.. I looked up a lot of information about lilies. The orange lily, also known as the fire lily, can signify death. Calla lilies are often seen at funerals too, I believe.


End file.
